New Traditions
by StoryDiva
Summary: Sam gets hurt on a hunt, Dean takes care of him. Sam laments that it will be a sucky Christmas and Dean sets out to stop that from happening. Wincest.


**A/N: **Written for mystery schmoop week at undermistletoe. It's Sam/Dean so proceed with caution. Much love to Steph for the beta work. Feedback always appreciated.  
**Crossposted: **undermistletoe and my livejournal & website

* * *

_**New Traditions**_

"In general, and just for future reference, when I say 'monster, get down,' what you should do is get the hell down!" Dean stated as he kicked the door of their motel room open. He wrapped his arms around Sam and dragged him into the room. He dumped Sam on the bed closest to the door and dropped his duffel bag on the floor with a loud thud.

He ran his hands over Sam's face and chest, taking in the bite marks and scratches that the black dog had given him. Dean swallowed down the bile in his throat and the _waytooclose_ feeling pounding in his chest. There would be time for freaking out later; right then, Sam needed him.

As though Sam was reading his mind, Sam grabbed onto Dean's hand and said, "I'm okay." Sam shut his eyes and repeated, "I'm okay."

Dean rolled his eyes, slapping Sam's face to keep him from falling asleep, and said, "I need you to stay awake a little longer, Sammy." Sam nodded, but his eyes drooped shut. Dean rested him back against the pillows and said, "We need to make sure nothing's broken."

"I'm not broken."

"You know this was a new level of stupidity, even for you," Dean replied. He grabbed his bag off the floor and pulled out the first aid kit. He removed Sam's shirt and bit down on his lip at the sight of the gashes along his chest. A part of him wanted to bang his brother's head against the wall – it was like he was a magnet for fucking trouble – but Sam looked like hell already.

Sam opened his eyes and focused an intent gaze on Dean. He said, "It was gonna get you."

"I had it covered."

Sam shook his head and said, "I just…I couldn't let it hurt you."

"I was fine, Sam. It was gunning for you right from the get go."

"I didn't know that."

"It doesn't matter if you know that or not. I tell you to do something in the middle of a hunt and you do it."

Sam grimaced. "You sound like dad."

Dean rolled his eyes again. Sometimes it was all he could do to keep himself from throttling the living daylights out of his brother. He dumped the contents of the first aid kit on the bed and eyed Sam's wounds again. He said, "You're lucky. It looks like I was able to get to you before it could do any real damage."

"You always do."

"You don't even need stitches," Dean stated. He opened his flask of holy water and poured it over the cuts on Sam's chest, using his other hand to hold Sam still. He then grabbed the bottle of peroxide and dumped that over the cuts as well.

Sam let out a hiss of pain as the peroxide foamed on the cuts while Dean went to work on the injuries on Sam's neck. Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him, watching him intently, and it was almost unnerving.

"What?" Dean finally asked when he wasn't sure he could concentrate on patching Sam up when Sam was looking at him like that.

"It's a Christmas miracle."

"Are you delusional?"

"It's Christmas Eve…or did you forget?"

"How could I forget with you constantly humming Christmas songs and drinking all that disgusting eggnog?"

"And we're together and we're both okay."

"Says the guy bleeding from every appendage."

"I'm okay, Dean. Really," Sam said. He sat himself up and grabbed the gauze from Dean's hand, placing it on the bed next to them. He took Dean's hand and placed it on his chest and said, "See. Perfectly fine."

"You're not perfectly fine. You're a mental case," Dean replied. He could feel all the worry and anger that he had been carrying around for months boiling underneath the surface. Fucking Sam. He knew how to push just the right buttons to totally undo Dean. Dean sighed and added, "And you're exhausted. Lay back down and let me finish wrapping these wounds so you can get some sleep."

Sam tried to wave him off, but as soon as Dean pushed him back down, Sam's eyes closed. Dean shook his head. "Stubborn bastard."

Sam groaned and forced his eyes back open. He said, "I can't go to sleep yet. It's Christmas Eve and we haven't done anything."

"We're both covered in blood and slime, and we smell like a cesspool. What exactly did you want to do?" Dean countered. He handed a few painkillers to Sam along with a bottle of water, ordering him to drink with a firm glare, before saying, "Besides, Christmas has never been a Winchester thing."

"But it could be our thing," Sam muttered as he swallowed the pills. He rested his head against the pillows and stared up at Dean with that damn pitiful puppy dog face that Dean had never been able to resist. Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair and said, "We need a thing. Something that's not all about hunting. Something that's just you and me."

"Christ, you're such a girl. What's next? You complain that I don't buy you flowers on our anniversary," Dean replied. He undid the zipper of Sam's jeans, which caused Sam to react by pulling Dean on top of him, and then yelping in pain because not all of his cuts were bandaged yet.

"And you're supposedly the smart one," Dean said as he slid off Sam. He yanked Sam's jeans off – luckily no gashes, just bruises – and explained, "I was helping you into bed and checking for more cuts, not putting the moves on you, asshole."

"You don't need to put the moves on me. I'm already yours."

Dean forced a neutral expression. He hated that those words hit him right in the gut and made him want to smile and freak out all at once. Only Sam had this affect on him and Dean was never sure if it was a blessing or a curse or something that just was. He tried his damndest not to get attached to his brother, to remind himself that Sam had bigger plans for his life than hunting and fucking his brother, but it got harder and harder to process when Sam said shit like that.

Dean pushed the hair off Sam's face and if his hand lingered on Sam's face a little longer than it should have, Sam didn't say anything. Dean said, "Get some sleep, Sammy."

"This is a sucky Christmas," Sam moaned.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you don't listen to your brother," Dean replied.

"I was saving you."

"You did a great job by letting it maul you," Dean replied. Dean leaned over and shut the light off. "Sleep."

Sam's eyes were already shut and by the time Dean had reached the bathroom door, he could hear Sam's snores. Dean laughed silently to himself, not sure if it was because he was relieved or still freaked out by the image of Sam going down and the black dog attacking him.

Dean ran his hand over his face and glanced at himself in the mirror. "Merry Freaking Christmas to us," he muttered as he splashed some water over his face.

By the time Dean had showered and filed the debacle of a hunt away in his _never gonna think about it again_ file, Sam was dead to the world. It appeared to be a dreamless sleep – one of the wonders of painkillers – because he wasn't thrashing around, sweating, or murmuring in his sleep. Dean knew there was no way he was going to sleep, with all of the adrenaline still coursing through him, and he thought about what Sam had said. Sam wanted a merry Christmas and Dean couldn't help but feel like he owed him as much. Besides, he had never been able to deny Sam before, why start then?

Dean scribbled a note about a bar in case Sam woke up, and grabbed his jacket off the bed. He was careful not to wake Sam as he crept to the door and left. He remembered passing one of those Super Wal-Marts back a few miles and, as much as Sam went on about the store's inherent evilness, there was something to be said for a place where he could buy camping equipment or a football in the middle of the night.

Dean grinned as he started the Impala. It might actually turn out to be a good holiday after all.

Dean was back in the motel room and had everything decorated long before morning. He had managed to find a sad looking Charlie Brown Christmas tree, batman stockings and a really creepy looking Santa Claus doll, which he whispered _Christo_ at before deciding to buy it. He worked his magic with the cute girl on the night shift and talked her into giving up some eggnog she had put aside to take home for herself. All in all, he'd obtained a nice haul of Christmas goodies.

Dean stuffed a few presents he purchased for Sam in the gift bags that he had picked up, put out a plate with donuts, and placed the eggnog in the ice bucket. He glanced over his work – not too shabby – and crept over to the other bed, careful not to wake Sam up.

He didn't even bother to take off his clothes, just fell onto the bed and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He didn't wake up until he felt Sam shaking him sometime later in the morning.

"For God's sake, you better be dying."

"What did you do?" Sam questioned.

Dean groaned and threw one of the extra pillows at Sam. "Let me sleep."

"When did you have time to get all this stuff?" Sam asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Sam never could take a hint, Dean thought. He opened his eyes and met his brother's content expression. Sam was practically beaming in a way Dean hadn't seen in years, and seeing Sam so happy made being forced awake less annoying than usual. Dean sighed and sat up. He shrugged and said, "I couldn't sleep last night."

"So?"

"You said you wanted to celebrate," Dean offered.

Sam's grin grew bigger. He reached out and pulled Dean up and against him, crushing their lips together. Dean's hands roamed underneath Sam's shirt, tracing his fingers over his abdominal muscles and drawing patterns into his skin. Sam bit down on Dean's lip and slid his tongue along the top of Dean's mouth. There was kissing and kissing and more kissing until Dean finally pulled back, completely out of breath and hard.

"Sammy…"

"Merry Christmas, Dean," Sam replied, running his tongue along Dean's jaw and down his throat. He bit into the sensitive skin on Dean's shoulder as he moved his hands inside Dean's boxers.

Dean arched up against the touch and said, "If I knew you'd react this way, I would've done something like this years ago."

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "Always a romantic."

"You want romantic? I bought you eggnog, even though it reminds me of vomit."

Sam kissed Dean, this time quickly, and said, "Can we start making our new traditions now?"

"Sometimes I like how you think, Sammy," Dean replied, pulling Sam's mouth back down to his and getting lost in the feel of Sam against him.

And, if after it was all over, Dean had a stupid grin on his face for the remainder of the day and couldn't ignore the way his chest swelled with happiness, well, he'd blame it on the eggnog and donuts.

_Fin_


End file.
